


Neville Longbottom and the Philosopher's Stone

by Elizabeth (anghraine)



Series: Neville Longbottom:  the Boy Who Lived [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-03-17
Updated: 2007-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville Longbottom enters his first year at Hogwarts armed only with a hyperactive wand, constant advice from his senile relations, the friendship of his wily cousin, Harry Potter, and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Frank Longbottom, handsome, magically powerful, and well-born, was the best of the best by the Death Eaters’ credo. He befuddled his allies and enemies alike by publicly blaming the decline of wizarding culture on ‘Mugglification’ (a charming term coined by Abraxas Malfoy) and three weeks later naming Lily Potter godmother to his firstborn son. The Order smiled their relief at the young Auror’s sudden reversal; the Death Eaters suspected a cunning plot.

Both were mistaken, but the world would never discover it. The Potters and Longbottoms spent half of 1980 and most of 1981 fleeing from refuge to refuge, finally driven to a small village in Cornwall, where James Potter owned an abandoned and half-forgotten house. Between Lily’s ever-brilliant spellwork and the inspired choice of unassuming Peter Pettigrew as Secret-Keeper, they anticipated, for the first time in years, something akin to safety.

Instead, the Secret was betrayed, and the Dark Lord appeared in their new home. Alice Longbottom, the fastest duellist to come out of Hogwarts in twenty-five years, tried to delay him and was instantly killed. Frank rushed to the nursery, unable to Floo or Apparate out, but determined to protect Neville and Harry or die trying.

And since he was _Frank Longbottom_ , pureblood extraordinaire, he was given a choice. He could step aside, hand his son and his cousin over, and he would live. The Dark Lord couldn’t know that there was no plot and never had been. Frank believed in the old traditions, and so he supported them; he trusted his best friend, Lily, and so he could think of nobody better to be Neville’s godmother. As far as Frank Longbottom was concerned, there was never any choice, and so he died.

  


  
_  
**1 November 1981 THE DAILY PROPHET Price: 5 Knuts**   
_

**  
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Defeated!   
**

  


  
Last evening, You-Know-Who went in search of two couples who carried the distinction of being among his greatest enemies: James and Lily Potter (for the true story behind this unlikely pairing, see June 1978 article Star-Crossed Lovers? Potter Heir and Muggleborn Beauty Engaged!), and highly successful Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom.

The Potters and Longbottoms disappeared from the public eye over six months ago, due to an as yet undisclosed threat, and were preparing to hide under the incredibly complex Fidelius Charm (Charms experts discuss on page E3). Sirius Black, a friend and relation of Mr Potter’s as well as of Mr and Mrs Longbottom’s, was their first choice of Secret Keeper, but they quickly switched to former schoolmate Peter Pettigrew.

It was a tragic mistake. Pettigrew, who includes among his other secrets an illegal Animagus form (a common rat, see right), has been feeding information to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters for over a year. He betrayed his friends to the Dark Lord, who promptly went to the safe house in Godric’s Hollow, Cornwall.

Quickly and efficiently, he killed both Longbottoms, and went to the nursery, where the Potters’ and Longbottoms’ sons, Harry and Neville, peacefully slept. He cast the Killing Curse once again and then, the Dark Lord -- for years the scourge of the wizarding world -- was defeated by a fifteen-month-old boy. Harry was physically unharmed by the traumatic experience, but the newly orphaned Neville was left with a lightning shaped scar on his forehead, mark of the day he lived where all others have perished.

  


  
**  
_12 November 1981 THE DAILY PROPHET Price: 5 Knuts_   
**

**  
Potters Receive Guardianship of Boy Who Lived!   
**

  


  
Today’s reading of Mr Frank Longbottom’s will settled all controversy. Lily Potter, young Neville Longbottom’s godmother, and her husband James Potter, a not too remote cousin of the Longbottoms’, were awarded full custody of the Boy Who Lived.

When asked her opinion on the development, Augusta Longbottom (the late Mr Longbottom’s mother) said, ‘I’m not surprised. Lily and Frank have -- had been thick as thieves since the day they were Sorted, and he always got on well with James and Sirius.’ With a smile, her mother-in-law Callidora Longbottom added, ‘A spirited boy like Neville is going to need more than a lot of antediluvians like us. I couldn’t hope for better guardians than Lily and James.’

Perhaps a further reason for their complaisance can be found in the Potters’ stated intention to raise Neville with their own son, Harry, at an undisclosed family property. It is rumoured that they are bringing the surviving Longbottoms with them.

  


  
**  
_14 November 1981 THE DAILY PROPHET Price: 5 Knuts_   
**

**  
Black Sheep Returns to the Fold!   
**

  


  
Mr Arcturus Black, the ninety-year-old patriarch of a family widely considered to be one of Britain’s wealthiest and most influential (and, it must be said, most eccentric), is renowned for his many philanthropic endeavours, which last year won him the award of Order of Merlin, First Class. Mr Black’s announcement of this morning, however, won the attention of the wizarding world for quite a different reason.

The elderly wizard appeared in public today, leaning heavily on the strong arm of his handsome and charismatic grandson Sirius, who lost scarcely any admirers when he was disinherited at age sixteen. ‘We are fully reconciled,’ Mr Black said. ‘I consider Sirius the best example of what the Blacks are able to offer wizardkind.’

He further explained, ‘When people talk of Sirius’ supposed repudiation of our family and everything we stand for, they forget that he actually went to live with my favourite cousin. Her part in healing the breach cannot be overestimated.’ Sirius said, ‘It was really [. . .] adolescent rebellion on my part. Aunt Dorea helped me to see exactly what I was doing.’ Mrs Dorea Potter ( _née_ Dorea Black) was Sirius’ great-aunt, the wife of Ministry diplomat Charles Potter, and well known and respected for her work in Potions.

Sirius looked livid when the topic of Regulus Black (the younger brother who supplanted him as Black family heir) was brought up, for quite different reasons than might be supposed. ‘My brother was murdered by Death Eaters,’ the young man said, his voice rising passionately. ‘It’s not something we talk about, but everybody knows what happened. It was a stupid mistake. Regulus was a young idiot, we all were, and he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was just a mistake.’

When asked if he would ever consider again disinheriting his spirited grandson, Mr Black declared, ‘No, not under any circumstances.’ He later added, ‘His cousins have all proven highly unsatisfactory. Sirius possesses in spades courage, loyalty, intelligence, and talent, all qualities prized in the Black family; now that he’s settled down, I could not ask for anything more in an heir.’

The ‘unsatisfactory’ cousins in question are the married daughters of Cygnus and Druella Black: Bellatrix Lestrange, 30, Andromeda Tonks, 28, and Narcissa Malfoy, 26. All three lovely sisters (once inseparable, now estranged for reasons unknown) are highly respected and prominent figures in the wizarding community. Mrs Tonks has one daughter, Nymphadora, 8, while Mrs Malfoy is mother to a son, Draco, 1.

Mr Black declined to elaborate on his statement.

  


  
**  
_26 November 1981 THE DAILY PROPHET Price: 5 Knuts_   
**

**  
Black-Greengrass Alliance!   
**

  


  
Menelaus Greengrass, Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, today announced the engagement of his sister Chloe, 21, to Sirius Black, 23. According to both, they have been quietly dating for nearly a year.

‘Sirius was meant to be the Potters’ Secret-Keeper up until the last moment,’ explained Miss Greengrass. ‘It had been planned since before he looked twice at me, and he fully expected to be tortured and killed immediately afterwards. He couldn’t bear to make me a young widow -- or still worse, a target for Death Eaters and You-Know-Who.’

The jaunty young man whose flippant defiance gave hope to many older and more experienced wizards seems transformed by the trials he has endured. Sirius Black is grave, calm, and collected as he sits with his fiancée, but his dark eyes are haunted. Years as a marked man have indelibly scarred him.

Arcturus Black was unavailable for comments, but his wife Melania virtually bubbled over with excitement. ‘We are delighted, of course,’ she said with a bright smile. ‘Chloe is a breath of fresh air for us.’

‘I expect they will be very happy,’ declared [Sirius] Black’s uncle, Ignatius Prewett. ‘Chloe is a good, steady girl, just what the Blacks need.’

With equal sincerity, Madam Greengrass said, ‘There’s no denying that it’s highly convenient for all of us, but that’s pure coincidence. Neither family had any idea until the matter was already settled. It was chance that brought them together.’

Apparently, ‘chance’ more commonly goes by the name of James Potter. ‘My mother was Sirius’ great-aunt and my grandmother was Chloe’s,’ Potter told us. ‘So of course I knew them both. Since they were accounted “dangerous blood traitors” by the Death Eaters, Sirius and Chloe were ostracised by _respectable_ folk who didn’t have their courage. It was the same story with pretty much any young people trying to do the right thing. So I threw a sort of party.’ Smiling at the memory, he explained, ‘It was at the ancestral estate in Kent, a very exclusive event -- blood-traitors of the first order only! Chloe and Sirius met there, danced, talked a bit. It wasn’t love at first sight.’ Potter rejected all compliments. ‘Sirius was preparing to die for me and my family,’ he said. ‘The least I could do was facilitate his social life.’

Black, asked about hopes for his future with Miss Greengrass, proved that his mischievous side is still alive and kicking. ‘You know, every Black in the history of -- er, forever -- was in Slytherin, until now, but times are changing. I was in Gryffindor, Chloe in Ravenclaw. Personally, I’m hoping we raise a houseful of Hufflepuffs.’

The Black-Greengrass wedding is set for New Year’s Eve.

The happy couple are pictured to the right, surrounded by their loving family. Top row, left to right: Edmund Tonks, Lucius Malfoy, Menelaus Greengrass, Cygnus Black, Ignatius Prewett, Priam Greengrass. Second row, left to right: Andromeda Tonks, Melania Black, Niobe Greengrass, Lucretia Prewett, Cassiopeia Black, Narcissa Malfoy. Third row, left to right: James Potter, Sirius Black, Chloe Greengrass, Lily Potter. Last row, left to right: Nymphadora Tonks, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Daphne Greengrass, Neville Longbottom.

  


  
**  
_1 November 1982 THE DAILY PROPHET Price: 5 Knuts_   
**

**  
Black Secrets -- Tragedy Strikes Again!   
**

  


  
Yesterday, cousins-in-law Lily Potter and Chloe Black were, like the rest of the wizarding world, secure in the belief that the menace posed by You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters was over. It was exactly one year since the defeat of the Dark Lord by Neville Longbottom, Mrs Potter’s godson, and all the world was celebrating.

All the world, that is, but for a family of four. All were respectable. All were well-connected.

All were Death Eaters.

They were Mr Rodolphus Lestrange, his wife ( _née_ Bellatrix Black), his brother Rabastan, and Mrs Lestrange’s young cousin Barty, the son of none other than Magical Law Enforcement head Bartemius Crouch.

The last time Mrs Potter and Mrs Black were seen that day, they were talking to young Barty Crouch and laughing. They certainly were not laughing much longer. Their families contacted the Ministry approximately an hour and a half after the women’s disappearance.

‘Lily and Chloe told us they’d be home at three. They’re very organised people, always very together,’ said a distraught James Potter. ‘When they were still gone by three-thirty, we knew something had to be wrong.’

The truth was beyond anyone’s worst expectations. Mrs Black and Mrs Potter were discovered in Knockturn Alley at 4:38, mere moments after their assailants had fled. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ said Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. ‘The victims were obviously surprised, but they fought like heroes. They probably cast fifteen curses between the two of them before the Cruciatus incapacitated them.’

However, upon their arrival at St Mungo’s, Mrs Potter was instantly transferred to another ward. Eight and a half months pregnant, the trauma had induced a premature labour, and nine hours later, she gave birth to twin girls.

Witnesses on Knockturn Alley were surprisingly helpful and the Lestranges, as well as young Crouch, were immediately apprehended. Once found guilty by the Wizengamot, they will be sent to Azkaban for life.

Although Walburga Black, Chloe Black’s mother-in-law (and Bellatrix Lestrange’s aunt) insisted there must be a mistake, Mr Arcturus Black (the family patriarch) could not claim to be surprised. ‘It’s not that we thought she was a Death Eater, but she was never . . . normal. Brilliant, of course, but quite disturbing -- even as a child. At the time, it was a relief to marry her off to Roddy Lestrange.’ After a pause, he added, ‘At least there are no children, thank God.’

Just under a year ago, Mr Black told us that he considered Mrs Lestrange, along with her two younger sisters, an ‘unsatisfactory’ heir, but refused to further explain himself. One hopes that there will be no such dramatic relevations about Mrs Tonks and Mrs Malfoy (both of whom, unlike Mrs Lestrange, attended the Black-Greengrass wedding of last December).


	2. Chapter 2

_Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place  
20 July 1991_

Neville Longbottom crept upstairs, hesitating at the door that led to the roof. He took a deep breath, then reached out and twisted the knob.

‘Master Neville! What is you _doing?_ ’

‘Shh,’ Neville hissed. She was, thankfully, a Potter elf; it meant that she _might_ listen if he was fast and clever enough. ‘It’s an experiment, Emmy. Harry’s idea,’ he added, since the whole house knew that Harry’s exploits were never so disastrous as Neville’s.

‘What sort of experiment?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘No wands,’ Neville promised. ‘It’s just that I have to get some plants out of the greenhouse. _I_ grew them, after all.’

‘Emmy knows Master Neville is growing his own weeds,’ Emmy conceded.

‘They’re not weeds, Emmy, they’re . . . oh, never mind. But there’s one that has to be picked under the full moon, and it’s taken me forever -- I had to find the seeds and take care of it and everything, all by myself, just so I could pick it tonight.’ He looked at her pleadingly. ‘I won’t do anything stupid, I promise. Besides, the greenhouse is under the Charm. You know that.’

‘What weed is you needing?’

‘Fluxweed. It’s a mint --’

‘Emmy knows that one.’ Her ears twitched. ‘You has five minutes, then I is telling the Mistress.’

Neville chewed his lip. ‘Which mistress?’

‘ _The_ Mistress,’ she said, then blinked her enormous brown eyes. ‘You is wasting time, Master Neville.’

He flung the door open and raced upstairs to the greenhouse. _His_ greenhouse. It was dirty and overgrown and falling apart when he found it, and he and Harry had cleaned and pruned and planted and done everything, practically all by themselves. But Neville did a lot more, because Harry was only really interested in things that were very hard or very easy and he thought plants were boring, except when he wanted to use one.

Like now. Desperately, Neville turned around, trying to remember which window he’d planted the fluxweed by.

‘Neville! What are you doing at this hour?’

He jumped despite himself. Neville knew the portrait was there; he’d rescued it from a pile of rubble and dead weeds himself, and been rewarded when it turned out to be some Herbologist aunt from the seventeen hundreds. But she usually slept like -- well, the dead.

‘Hi, Aunt Persephone. I’m looking for the fluxweed,’ he said, peering in each window.

‘It’s the third over,’ Persephone told him helpfully. ‘Fluxweed on the full moon -- what are you two cooking up now?’

‘Er . . . nothing much.’ Two minutes left. He took out out his shears and carefully snipped at the base of the plant, the moonlight shining brightly through the window.

‘Good luck,’ said the portrait.

‘Thanks!’ Neville wrapped the cuttings up and rushed away, down the winding steps and through the door. When Emmy squinted at him, he extended his hands triumphantly.

‘Oh, go on, Master Neville,’ she said. ‘And don’t you and Master Harry be doing anything you shouldn’t.’

Neville grinned. ‘Never, Emmy,’ he said, and slipped downstairs. They had learnt to be very, very quiet a long time ago, because the only time the portraits didn’t watch them was at night, when they slept, but the slightest noise would wake at least one of them up. And for every Persephone there was someone like Lysandra, who dutifully reported everything she saw, or Phineas Nigellus’ brother Sirius, who was only seven and an awful tattletale. And that wasn’t even _mentioning_ Weird Walburga. Neville shuddered at the thought.

He nearly fainted in relief when he made it to the basement safely. Harry was already there, with his wild hair and square glasses looking like a mad alchemist as he bent over the two bubbling cauldrons.

‘Hi, Harry,’ said Neville, hurrying over.

‘Oh, there you are,’ Harry said, looking relieved. ‘Did everything go fine?’

‘Yeah. Aunt Persephone was awake, but she helped me, and everybody else was sleeping. Well, except Emmy.’ He scowled. ‘She almost kept me from getting to the greenhouse, and she threatened to tell Aunt Melania if I was gone more than five minutes.’

‘Aunt Melania? That’s _low_ ,’ Harry said admiringly. ‘But you’ve got it?’

‘Yeah.’ Neville swallowed. ‘We won’t get in trouble, will we?’

‘Nah,’ said Harry. ‘It’s not dangerous or anything.’ He gazed at the bubbling potions with satisfaction. ‘Ready?’

Neville began chopping up the fluxweed. Harry stirred the potions every few minutes, and pored over the Blacks’ tattered copy of _Most Potente Potions_ the rest of the time.

‘Here you go, Harry,’ said Neville, and crossed his fingers, backing away from the potions. Harry had amazing reflexes and could dash under the table at a moment’s notice, but Neville, well, he was slower. _Lots_ slower.

‘Ha!’ Harry cried as he flicked a bit of fluxweed into the second cauldron. Neville cautiously approached. The potions looked exactly like the book said they should. An ugly sticky mass that would probably take forever to scrub out.

‘Where’s your hair?’ Neville asked.

‘Right there,’ said Harry. ‘And yours?’

‘Er . . . _ow!_ ’ Neville rubbed his head. ‘You could’ve _waited_.’

‘No point,’ Harry said blithely. ‘Well, this is it.’

Neville nodded, staring at the still identical potions. Potions and Herbology were the only magic they were really supposed to do. Since Neville was good with plants and Harry was good at, well, what he called ‘interesting stuff’ (which translated out of Harry-speak, meant anything that might blow up if he made a mistake), it generally worked out. Neville managed the ingredients and Harry put them together and their little lab, a present from Harry’s great-grandmother Violetta on their eighth birthdays, was still intact. Once or twice, Callidora and Cassie had even made them bottle some of their best work up and show it to Arcturus, and terrifying as it was, there was no thrill quite like hearing the cantankerous old man say, ‘Well done.’

Of course, they wouldn’t be showing _anybody_ this. They knew from Dora, who had just finished her seventh year and was going to be an Auror, that _Most Potente Potions_ was in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts, and that was usually a pretty good sign that James would get upset about it, and maybe Melania or Callidora, and _definitely_ Mrs Longbottom if she found out.

Harry dropped one hair to each potion. They began bubbling and frothing madly, Neville’s turning dull yellowish brown and Harry’s an eye-smarting lime green.

‘Brilliant,’ Harry breathed.

‘I s’pose we should test it,’ said Neville. ‘You know, just to be sure, and all that.’

They grinned at each other. ‘Oh, definitely. Wouldn’t want to turn into a cat or something.’ Harry carefully ladled a bit of each into the phials they’d prepared. After giving them time to cool, Neville picked up the one labelled _PJ--H_ , and downed it.

 _‘Eww.’_ The sludge went down his unwilling throat, Neville coughing and gasping as horrible convulsions overwhelmed him. He could see Harry’s skin bubbling and stretching before his eyes -- and then it was over.

They gaped at each other. Harry was a few inches shorter, with a head of thick mousy hair, round cheeks, and bright blue eyes. On his forehead was a small, jagged white scar. It was the same image Neville saw in the mirror every morning.

‘This is awesome,’ he said, but the voice that came out was softer and lower than his own. The other-Neville -- Harry -- laughed, and it came out in Neville’s nervous giggle.

‘Incredible,’ he said. ‘Okay, we’ll want a couple of these. Three phials a piece, you think?’

‘Er . . . Harry,’ said Neville, ‘what are we doing this for? I mean, besides to prove that we can.’

‘ _Hogwarts_ , Neville,’ said Harry, pouring the Neville potion into phials. ‘What if we’re in different houses? We can pretend to be each other, and . . . well, I’m sure we’ll figure something to do. We’ll keep our phials around, just in case.’

‘Oh,’ said Neville. He really couldn’t imagine it being at all useful to turn into Harry, but then, cunning plots had never really been his strong point. ‘But . . . Harry, I might not go.’

 _‘What?’_ Harry squeaked. ‘Think Dad’ll send you to Durmstrang?’

Neville chuckled at the thought, but sobered quickly. ‘No, I mean . . . I’m not like you, Harry. I’ve never turned Cousin Walburga’s hair blue, or appeared in some room nobody had heard of, or . . . or anything.’

‘You’re brilliant with Herbology, though. And on purpose, too, which is still better. Any half-witted wizard can go around with that sort of stuff.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe I’m not a wizard.’ There. It was out.

Harry stared at him with Neville’s eyes. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

Neville went on doggedly, ‘I mean, remember when Uncle Sirius let us try out a few spells on his wand? Nothing ever worked right for me. My _Lumos_ turned every light in the room off. My _Scourgify_ melted your cauldron.’

‘Well, obviously the wand wasn’t suited to you.’

‘I tried my dad’s wand, too,’ Neville said, suddenly miserable. ‘Nothing worked right.’

‘You’ll get your own wand,’ Harry told him, putting a stopper in the last phial. ‘You’ll be fine then.’

‘I don’t think so. What if I’m a Muggle, Harry?’

Harry put the last phial in the potions rack. ‘Neville, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. First, you’re a pureblood. You _can’t_ be a Muggle. The only thing you can be is a Sq-- ’

‘Shh,’ Neville cried. ‘You know we’re not allowed to say that word. Think what Gran would say!’

‘Yeah, well, she’s not _my_ gran,’ said Harry. ‘Dad never said I couldn’t say it.’

‘I bet Uncle Arcturus would go spare if he heard you, though. And he _is_ your uncle, or whatever it is.’

‘First cousin twice removed.’ Harry frowned. ‘That’s not the point. The thing is, you wouldn’t be a Muggle -- you can’t be. You’d be a S-word. But you’re not. I mean, if you give a . . . a nonmagical person a wand, it doesn’t do crazy things like with you. It doesn’t do _anything at all_ , because they’re not magical, see? Or if a Muggle tried to work with magical plants -- or make potions -- he wouldn’t be able to. A potion isn’t just a stew made out of weird stuff and put in a cauldron, Neville. It’s _magic_. It’s the same with Herbology. Speaking of going spare, what do you think Aunt Persephone would say if you called her a gardener? She’s _not_. And that’s not what you’re doing. I mean, you grew a _Devil’s Snare_.’

Neville sighed. ‘You’re right, I guess.’

‘You notice I didn’t mention the Boy-Who-Lived thing,’ Harry added, smiling slyly. Neville snorted.

‘Thanks, Harry.’ He stared at the carpet. ‘It’s just . . . I know that Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid . . . and Gran . . . are wondering. ’Cause I’ve never done anything accidental. I even heard them talking about it once.’

‘You’re too happy, that’s the thing.’ Harry set the extra Polyjuice aside and began cleaning up. ‘I mean, I’ve only done it when I was really scared or angry or something.’

‘You lit my Devil’s Snare on fire,’ Neville reminded him.

Harry grinned. ‘That’d go in the “really scared” category.’

#

 _‘Dad!’_

‘Uncle James, guess what? Guess what I did?’ Neville was practically jumping up and down, his face wreathed in smiles. ‘You’ll never guess what I did.’

‘Daddy, Daddy!’ the twins chorused, trailing Harry and Neville. ‘Guess what Neville did? He went down the stairs!’

‘Shh,’ Harry hissed at his sisters. ‘It’s Neville’s story.’

Helen stuck her tongue out but obeyed. Chloe shovelled food in her mouth to keep from talking.

After the requisite pause, Neville pronounced, ‘I fell down the staircase.’

The adults stared at him. ‘He bounced,’ Harry added hurriedly. ‘ _Really_ bounced. It was magic, I saw it.’

‘Me too!’ said Helen. ‘I saw, and so did Chloe!’

Chloe, desperate not to be left out, tried to swallow so fast she nearly choked. ‘Yeah, I saw him too,’ she said. ‘He was just like a Bludger.’

Enid burst into tears, but nearly everybody else got up and surrounded Neville to offer congratulations.

‘Good for you, m’boy,’ said Violetta, pounding him on the back. Neville gasped for breath. Her one hundred and nine years hadn’t noticably weakened her. ‘Knew you had it in you.’ She smiled. ‘Tried any interesting potions lately?’

Harry and Neville turned scarlet, which fortunately went unnoticed by practically everybody.

‘This is a rite o’ passage in a young man’s life, this is,’ Algie declared. ‘We’ve got to celebrate!’

‘We’ll get you a proper wand,’ Sirius told him, winking. ‘You’ll be all right then.’

‘After you get your letter, and not a day before,’ Arcturus pronounced. ‘Any half-witted wizard . . .’

‘Neville’s not half-witted, Uncle Arcturus,’ Chloe cried. ‘Neville’s smart, you’ll never guess what we saw him do --’

Helen jabbed her in the ribs. Arcturus’ brows shot up.

‘Emmy!’ James said, and the house elf materialised. ‘We’re going to need pumpkin juice, I think . . . and cake . . .’

‘And trifle!’ Harry shouted. ‘That’s Neville’s favourite!’

‘And trifle, for our young wizard here,’ James finished, smiling at Neville, who beamed. Melania sniffled.

‘They’ve all grown up so fast,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘And now Harry and Neville are going to Hogwarts!’

‘Thank the good Lord,’ Arcturus muttered. Her eyes widened.

 _‘Arcturus!’_

Neville grinned to see the dignified Black patriarch looking somewhat sheepish at his gentle wife’s disapproval. ‘Don’t you think they _want_ to go?’

‘A pet,’ said Algie. ‘That’s just what the boy needs. A . . . a _toad_ , that’s what.’

James and Sirius looked horrified.

‘No, no,’ Callidora said. ‘Toads are _quite_ unpopular these days -- though when I was girl . . .’

‘Better an owl,’ Cassie finished firmly. ‘Fashionable, and _always_ useful.’

‘We’ll have to go to Diagon Alley,’ James mused.

Violetta nodded sharply. ‘Never wise to order a pet without seeing it first.’

‘Quite so,’ Callidora agreed. ‘Why, you remember when I got _my_ first pet . . . ’

‘Oh, that vicious snake of yours?’ Cassie shook her head. ‘That thing terrorised half of Slytherin House.’

‘Couldn’t happen to nicer people,’ said Sirius. Violetta boxed his ears.

‘A snake, really?’ Harry’s eyes widened. ‘You can have snakes at Hogwarts?’

Cassie and Callidora laughed. ‘You can when your grandfather’s Headmaster,’ said Cassie.

‘Dad, I want a snake. D’you think Professor Dumbledore would let me? He likes me, don’t you think? Could Grandfather Phineas convince him?’

‘Hmmph,’ said Phineas, appearing in his portrait. ‘Trying to break the rules already, are you?’

‘It’s not breaking the rules when you have permission,’ said Harry. ‘A snake would be _so cool._ I could talk to him, and --’

‘You’re too old to be telling tales, Harry,’ James said sharply.

‘I’m not!’

 _‘Harry.’_

He subsided, scowling. ‘I’m not lying,’ he muttered.

‘We can’t _all_ go,’ Sirius was saying.

Arcturus sniffed. ‘I have no inclination. A man of my years . . .’

‘Stuff it, boy,’ Violetta said. ‘I’ll be going, of course. There’s a nice pub on Knockturn Alley --’

‘I’m not sure . . . ‘ Callidora murmured shyly. ‘So many people . . .’

‘Oh, you’ll love it,’ Cassie assured her. ‘It’ll do you good to get out again.’

‘Do you think the wards would be affected by too many of us leaving at once?’ Mrs Longbottom asked.

‘I think at least one Longbottom should stay,’ James told her. ‘You, Callidora, Francis, or Enid.’

‘I could . . .’ Callidora began.

‘No, you couldn’t,’ Cassie said. ‘Augusta, I hate to suggest it . . .’

They looked at Neville. ‘Oh!’ he said uncomfortably, ‘er . . . whatever you think best. I mean, I don’t really mind . . . whoever wants to come can. But Gran, if you don’t feel up to it . . .’

‘Not as young as I once was,’ she conceded.

 _‘Really,’_ muttered Violetta. ‘Not a day over eighty and --’

‘All right then,’ James said, his voice rising above the hubbub. ‘Sirius and I, Harry and Neville, Enid and Algie, Cassie and Callidora are coming to Diagon Alley -- Arcturus and Mrs Longbottom will be at Grimmauld Place --’

‘I’ll stay with Augusta,’ Francis announced, with a glance at his wife’s pinched face.

‘Then Mr Longbottom and Uncle Cygnus will stay here as well; Grandmother Vi is coming . . .’

Every head swivelled to stare at Melania. She blinked. ‘I think . . . I should like . . .’ She glanced timidly at her husband. ‘Arcturus, do you think I should go?’

‘Whatever you want,’ he told her gruffly, but cracked a smile. ‘Your people will be there, they’ve got someone going this year, that boy of Clarence’s . . . Leonard?’

‘Ernest,’ she said. ‘Oh, I _would_ like to see everyone again, and all our old haunts.’

‘I want to go too!’ Helen burst out. ‘Uncle Sirius, can’t I?’

‘And me!’ Chloe added, not to be outdone. ‘We’ve hardly ever left the house. We’re not babies any more, we’re almost _nine --_ ’

‘Shall we bring the house elves along too, Dad?’ Harry asked brightly. ‘They can carry a sign. “Cower before the might of the Black Army or perish!” ’

Neville snickered. ‘I don’t think that’s the impression we want to give, Harry.’

‘Oh, right; I forgot, you conquered the Dark Lord. It should be more like, “Noble hero of wizardkind and family.” We’ll have to invite Aunt Andromeda and Dora along for the proper effect, though.’

Mrs Longbottom said firmly, ‘That’s quite enough out of you two.’

‘And no, you may certainly not go,’ James told his daughters. ‘You’ll have your time when you’re ready to go to Hogwarts.’

‘But Dad, that’s not for _three years_ ,’ Helen complained.

‘Yeah. We’re only a little younger than Harry and Neville --’

‘Two years, three months, and a day,’ Neville and Harry chorused.

 _‘It’s not fair,’_ said Chloe, sticking her lip out.

‘How you can live here and think life is fair, _I_ have no idea,’ Violetta snapped. ‘Be quiet, and do as you’re told -- and remember who you are.’

One black head and one red bent together as they attemped to puzzle this out.

‘So _who’s_ coming?’ Cassie looked at her cousin. Callidora chewed her lip before responding.

‘Aunt Violetta, Melania, you and me, Sirius, James, Enid, Algie, Harry and Neville. Isn’t that right?’

‘Yes, Aunt Callidora,’ James said, and added with a sharp look at his daughters, ‘And _no more discussion_. Neville-- ’ he scraped his chair out of the way ‘you sit right there.’ He conjured up a highly ornate wooden chair. ‘It’s time to celebrate.’

All the house elves’ desserts appeared before them, and the children cheered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Arcturus Black, patriarch of the Black family, retired from public life. Reinstated his grandson Sirius as his heir after the Dark Lord's fall.
> 
> (2) Melania (Macmillan) Black, Arcturus' delicate wife, Sirius' grandmother, nominal mistress of the house.
> 
> (3) James Potter, son of Charles Potter and Dorea Black. A wealthy Ministry employee.
> 
> (4) Sirius Black, son of Orion and Walburga Black, heir to the Black fortune and name, best friend of James Potter, godfather of Harry Potter.
> 
> (5) Violetta (Bulstrode) Black, grandmother of Cygnus Black, Walburga Black, and James Potter.
> 
> (6) Cassiopeia Black, daughter of Violetta Black. Best friends with Hogwarts year-mate and cousin Callidora.
> 
> (7) Callidora (Black) Longbottom, Neville Longbottom's great-grandmother.
> 
> (8) Cygnus Black, reclusive son of Pollux Black and Irma Crabbe. Widower of Druella Rosier, father of Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa.
> 
> (9) Francis Longbottom, Callidora's son, Neville's grandfather.
> 
> (10) Augusta Longbottom, Neville's grandmother.
> 
> (11) Enid (Longbottom) Algernon, Callidora's daughter, Francis' sister, Neville's great-aunt.
> 
> (12) Aristodemus 'Algie' Algernon, Enid's husband.
> 
> (13) Chloe and Helen Potter, twin daughters of James Potter and Lily Evans, Harry's younger sisters.
> 
> (14) Susan Bones, Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, Morag MacDougal, Millicent Bulstrode, Hermione Granger, Katherine Rivers, Blaise Zabini, etc, year-mates of Neville's.


	3. Chapter 3

_Number Twelve Grimmauld Place  
31 July 1991_

On ‘Diagon Alley Day,’ which was also Harry’s birthday, Neville awoke so excited that he almost couldn’t button his robes properly. He raced downstairs, tailed by Chloe and an unusually downcast Helen.

‘We’ll have the house practically to ourselves,’ Chloe was saying. Helen brightened.

‘Yeah . . . that’ll be cool. But Uncle Arcturus won’t — ’

‘Uncle Arcturus won’t what?’ said the uncle in question, appearing in the doorway. Harry was at his side, and had clearly been subjected to Sleekeazy’s again, since his nature-defying hair was straight and neatly parted. For a moment, between the hair and nose and utter self-assurance, he looked for all the world like Arcturus’ great-grandson or something; then he grinned at his sisters and Neville, and he was just Harry again.

‘Oh . . . nothing,’ said Helen cheerfully. ‘Happy birthday, Harry!’

‘Thanks!’ He slid into his seat, and the rest quickly poured in, all wishing him well, even Cygnus who’d been dragged out of his favourite study. They were quite cheerfully eating breakfast when there was a rushing noise, and two owls swept in. The wards kept all mail away, so Harry and Neville were still staring in astonishment when each owl dropped an envelope next to their plates.

Neville’s said, in bright green letters, _Mr N Longbottom, the Dining Room, 12 Grimmauld Place, London._ Neville turned it over, and gasped. ‘Harry! Harry, it’s our — ’

There were three separate flashes of light. Neville scowled. James, Sirius, and Cassie, each holding a camera, smiled unrepentantly.

‘You didn’t think we’d let this moment pass without _pictures_ , did you?’ Sirius demanded. ‘All right, you can open them now.’

Both Harry and Neville ripped the letters open, and by the time Neville finished reading the invitation to Hogwarts, he was ready to strangle his uncles and aunt. There were still spots dancing in front of his eyes.

‘Hogwarts,’ Harry breathed reverently.

James laughed. ‘We could send you to Durmstrang, if you’re absolutely set on it.’

‘Eww.’ Neville wrinkled his nose.

‘I’m not,’ Harry said, lifting his chin as he read through the letter once again.

They left not long afterwards, James, Sirius, Mr Longbottom, and Arcturus restoring whatever wards they’d changed to let the Hogwarts birds through. Harry gave his letter to his father, but Neville couldn’t bring himself to let go of his own.

They went downstairs, past Walburga’s portrait. She opened her mouth, but Arcturus simply _looked_ at her. Even Walburga didn’t dare cross him when he looked like that.

Then they were at the fireplace. Neville almost thought he could feel the air whooshing out of his lungs. He’d been outside to play, of course — the wards extended along the whole property, not just the house — but even still, it was nothing like, like, like _this_. Harry had gone to the Ministry and Diagon Alley and St Mungo’s and even Hogsmeade a few times — it was nothing much for him. But Neville — this was _Outside_ , for the very first time in his life. His teeth chattered and he clutched his cousin’s hand.

Callidora and Melania looked equally terrified. Cassie and Arcturus had to forcibly detach them from each other.

‘Remember to speak clearly,’ James warned them, and one after another, they went through the fire. Harry and Neville were last, except for Sirius.

Neville tossed the powder into the fireplace, gathered his courage, and walked in, crying, _‘Diagon Alley!’_

#

There were so many _people_. Neville had never seen so many in his life, witches and wizards everywhere, spilling out of stores, talking loudly in the street, hurrying this way and that. The blur of bright cloaks and robes was occasionally dotted by sombre dark trousers and coats, which inevitably belonged to some bewildered couple following a wizard or witch and their pale, wide-eyed children.

 _Muggleborns_ , Neville surmised. He’d never seen any before and just kept himself from staring at them.

‘All right,’ James was saying. ‘We’ll split up, it’ll be faster that way.’

‘I’ll get their equipment,’ Violetta volunteered. ‘Melania, you’re coming with me. Anything changed anything since your day, James?’

He perused Harry’s letter. ‘No. Cauldron — oh, _only_ pewter now — phials — telescope — brass scales. Get him some basic potions ingredients too.’

‘Right, then,’ she said, and went off, pulling a dazed Melania behind her.

‘Sirius and I have some things to get from Gringotts,’ James went on. ‘Neville, Harry, do you want to come with us?’

They looked at each other. ‘Not really,’ said Harry. ‘There’s enough money for everything, isn’t there?’

Cassie snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, boy. Enid, Algie, why don’t you take Neville to the Menagerie for a pet? Go to Eeylops if he doesn’t find anything he likes there. We’ll go get Harry fitted at Madam Malkin’s.’

‘Very well,’ said Enid. ‘Neville, are you ready?’

He looked around his family with wide eyes. ‘Er . . .’ Harry patted him on the shoulder as he trailed after Cassie and Callidora.

‘And _no toads!_ ’ Sirius added in parting.

‘Yes, I guess so,’ Neville said. He wished he was like a Runespoor and had three heads, but made do with his own, standing on tiptoe as he looked around.

‘— new Nimbus Two Thousand — fastest ever — ’

‘No point trying to get a broom, Neville,’ said Enid, ‘you can’t bring one as a first year.’

‘Let the boy be, Enid,’ Algie told her. ‘No harm in looking.’

‘No, that’s fine,’ he said, sticking his hand behind his back. ‘Uncle James’ Comet Two Sixty is _more_ than fast enough, thanks.’

His aunt and uncle chuckled.

Before he quite knew what had happened, they were at Magical Menagerie, a store covered with cages and filled with the sounds of various animals — ravens croaking, snakes hissing, rabbits hopping, and cats miaowing, among others.

‘You’ll probably want an owl,’ Enid said, ‘but you might as well have a look around.’

‘You might decide you’d like a toad after all.’ Algie winked.

‘All right,’ Neville replied cheerfully. Cat, owl, toad, the letter said, but he knew there were plenty of exceptions. James said that the Weasley boys had passed down a rat, and when Sirius first went to Hogwarts, he got a Puffskein to irritate his family.

The ravens were annoying and he didn’t like snakes, but he thought a cat might be just the thing. He sidled past a girl looking at some of them, then jumped as two kittens began attacking each other. The girl laughed.

‘Don’t think I’ll get those ones, what about you?’

‘Er — no,’ said Neville awkwardly, for once grateful that his mousy hair had fallen in front of his face. ‘I’d like something nice and calm, really.’

‘Me too.’ She grinned, tossing her long brown plait over her shoulder. ‘Oh, sorry. I’m Susan.’ She held out her hand.

‘Neville,’ said Neville, awkwardly, shaking it. He was half anticipating, half dreading, her reaction, whatever it might be.

Her eyes rounded. ‘Neville? Neville _Longbottom?_ Really?’ Her eyes darted up to his forehead, then dropped to the floor. ‘Oh, well, er . . . it’s nice to meet you. I mean, _really_ nice . . . you’re going to Hogwarts?’

‘Yes,’ said Neville, and added unnecessarily, ‘it’s my first year.’

‘Mine too,’ Susan said, smiling shyly. ‘My aunt was really pleased when I got my letter, because my mum’s a Muggle and I never did anything that was, you know, _for sure_ magic — and Auntie’s way up in the Ministry — so she said I could have whatever pet I wanted and she’d see that there weren’t any problems about it.’

‘Oh, that’s nice of her,’ said Neville. ‘It’s sort of the same with me — all my family’s wizarding, but I never did anything, except growing some weird plants, until I bounced down the stairs about a week ago. Everybody was really pleased, so they’re letting me get a pet.’ He laughed. ‘My cousin wants a snake but I think I’ll just get a cat or an owl.’

‘A snake? Eww,’ she said, wrinkling her nose up. ‘An owl would be useful, but cats are really sw — cute.’

Neville laughed. ‘That’s true. That black one looks nice, don’t you think?’

Away from the angry kittens was another, hungrily lapping up milk. It was black and very small, composed chiefly of enormous ears and large green eyes. It turned towards them and miaowed, piteously.

‘Yeah,’ said Neville. ‘It looks like a runt, see how small it is?’

‘I’ll get it,’ Susan decided, ‘unless you want it?’

‘Nah.’ He grinned. ‘She’s yours. I’ll go to Eeylops, I think.’ He paused before leaving. ‘See you at Hogwarts, Susan.’

She blushed. ‘See you there.’

He returned to his aunt and uncle to find that they had been watching him interestedly. ‘Do you have a lady friend, Neville?’ Enid teased.

‘I never met her before!’ he cried. ‘But she seemed nice. Her people were worried that she wasn’t magic, too.’

‘Don’t be silly, Nev, nobody thought you weren’t magic,’ Algie said. Neville ignored him and walked into Eeylops Owl Emporium, a dimly lit store full of all kinds of owls. He rather liked it there, since there was no danger of anybody recognising him and the hoots and screeches of the owls were peculiarly soothing. Fifteen minutes later, Neville walked out with a snowy white owl under his arm, and a broad smile on his face.

‘Thanks, Auntie Enid,’ he chirped. The owl hooted at him.

‘She’ll need a name,’ Algie told him.

Neville wished Harry were there, he always knew stories and things. Then he thought of the greenhouse, and the portrait he’d saved. She was an Herbologist, and it was really the only important all-Neville thing he’d ever done. Neville said firmly, ‘Her name is Persephone.’

#

‘Harry!’

Neville waved his arm at his cousin, who, along with a number of other people, was staring longingly at the Nimbus Two Thousand on display at Quality Quidditch Supplies. With a visible effort, he tore himself away, followed by a slim blond boy. Apparently Harry, too, had made a friend of sorts — no surprise there, Harry’d always had a way of getting along with people.

‘Hi, Neville,’ Harry replied. ‘Oh, so you _did_ get an owl. Look, Draco, isn’t she pretty?’

The other boy — up close, an extremely pale, colourless creature with a pointed face and cold grey eyes — examined her. ‘Yes, rather,’ he said eventually. ‘What have you called her?’

‘Persephone,’ said Neville.

Harry grinned. ‘That’s brilliant, _she’ll_ be pleased,’ he said, then clapped his hand over his mouth. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Neville, this is my new friend, Draco Malfoy. Draco, my cousin, Neville Longbottom.’

‘Nice to meet you, Longbottom,’ drawled Malfoy. His voice was uncannily like Phineas’.

‘And you, Malfoy,’ Neville returned. Did Harry not know who the Malfoys _were?_ Honestly, he’d never figured out how his cousin could be so knowledgable about some things and obtuse about others. ‘Where are the aunts, Harry?’

‘They’re talking to Mrs Malfoy,’ said Harry. ‘Draco and I decided to come and get our wands.—Enid and Algie?’

‘They met some old friend and I said I’d be fine. I wanted to see what Florean’s was like.’

Harry laughed. ‘Or what Florean’s _tasted_ like? They must have left you money, then.’

‘Ten Galleons,’ said Neville, blushing. ‘Do you s’pose that will be enough?’

‘Probably,’ said Malfoy.

‘I’ll give you more if you need it,’ Harry promised. ‘Come on. Is Ollivander really as old as they say?’

The three boys hurried over to the shop. It was narrow, shabby, and in peeling gold letters announced itself _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC._ A rather battered wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the window. Though _this_ was what Neville had really been looking forward to, even he had to admit that on first sight the place was rather unprepossessing.

They walked in, and somewhere, a bell faintly tinkled. The shop was very small, the only furniture one spindly, delicate chair. There were shelves up to the wall, all full of long narrow boxes, and the air practically tingled with magic. Neville wasn’t sure whether to be impressed, afraid, or just excited. Malfoy was looking around with a bizarre mixture of curiosity and condescension, while Harry seemed more delighted than anything else. Clearly this was just what an ancient wand shop ought to be according to the Harry Potter idea of the world.

‘Good afternoon,’ said a soft voice. All three jumped. Before them was a very old man, even in wizarding terms. He had wide shining pale eyes.

‘Er, hello,’ said Harry. ‘I’m — ’

‘Harry Potter, yes,’ the creepy old man — Ollivander, Neville supposed — said. ‘I thought I’d be seeing you soon.’ He sighed. ‘You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches, long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for Charms work.’ He moved closer to an unnerved and slightly angry Harry, staring at him unblinkingly. ‘Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. A little more power, and excellent for Transfiguration.’

Neville could just believe it. ‘When in doubt, Transfigure’ seemed to be James Potter’s answer to _everything._

‘— really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course,’ Ollivander was saying; with a barely audible swish of his robes, he turned to Malfoy. ‘Draco Malfoy. A bit longer since your parents were in here . . . my, you _do_ look like your father. Twelve inches, elm, bendy. Dragon heartstring from a Hungarian Horntail, tricky piece of work too. Quite powerful . . .’ His voice trailed off, and he blinked for the first time, then coughed. ‘Your mother’s was more subtle, rowan, nine inches, with a unicorn hair. Very pliable, pleasant wand . . . and Mr Longbottom. I couldn’t forget Alice Gamp. Unusually short wand, quite rigid — ebony — a phoenix tail feather, most volatile. You are very like her. Except . . .’ He touched the scar on Neville’s forehead. ‘I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Yew. Fourteen inches. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands . . . well, if I’d known what that wand was going out in the world to do . . .’ He shook his head.

Malfoy looked uncomfortable and said firmly, ‘We’d like to get our wands, sir.’

‘Well now . . . Mr Potter. Which is your wand arm?’

‘Right,’ said Harry. As he was measured, Ollivander burbled on about wands, flitting around as he took down boxes.

‘Beechwood and dragon heartstring — maple and phoenix feather — hawthorn and unicorn hair — ’ They tried, and tried, and tried. Neville suppressed a yawn. Malfoy didn’t bother. The boxes piled higher and higher, until —

‘Unusual combination,’ Ollivander was saying cheerfully. ‘Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.’

Harry took the wand, and swished it through the air. A stream of red and gold shot from the end, lighting up the dim shop. Neville clapped enthusiastically, Malfoy congratulated him, and Mr Ollivander cried,

‘Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh very good. Well.’ His pale silvery eyes were fixed on the wand with a rather bemused expression, as if he had discovered something unexpected.

Malfoy was next, but he demanded to try the third wand Ollivander had pulled out, a hawthorn and unicorn hair one. It immediately shot out gold and silver sparks.

‘Excellent, excellent,’ Ollivander said, ‘nice and flexible — a very fine wand, if I do say so myself. Norwegian Ridgeback.’

‘How’d you know?’ Harry hissed, and Malfoy shrugged.

‘I wanted it,’ he said.

Neville suspected that was Malfoy’s answer to most questions.

As for Neville himself, he was nearly as long as Harry. Finally, however, the old wizard happened across a warm, attractive wand. ‘Cherry, ten inches, unicorn hair,’ he pronounced. ‘Swishy, quite versatile . . .’

When Neville tentatively took the wand, he didn’t have to swish. The blue and copper sparks were accompanied by a crash of broken glass and falling boxes. Harry and Malfoy ducked.

‘Oh dear,’ said Neville. ‘Does that mean I’m going to be a Ravenclaw?’

#

The weeks between their outing in Diagon Alley passed quickly. Harry and Neville were almost bouncing off the walls, in some cases quite literally. Helen was peevish while Chloe insisted she didn’t want to go to Hogwarts at all. James threatened to keep them from coming to King’s Cross too if they didn’t start behaving.

Sirius gave Harry his old school trunk with a knowing wink. Neville was sure there was some secret there, but didn’t find out until the night before their departure, when he caught Harry sneaking a Comet Two Sixty into the bottom of his luggage.

‘But that’s against the rules!’ Neville hissed.

‘You sound like a good Gryffindor already,’ Harry teased him.

‘I’ll _never_ get Sorted there,’ he replied gloomily, and didn’t realise until later how neatly the subject had been turned. Sirius and Harry had obviously conspired — it was just the sort of thing that Sirius would enjoy. And he’d been a Gryffindor too. Harry had to be wrong, Neville decided, since being a Gryffindor clearly had absolutely _nothing_ to do with obeying rules.

Neville carefully packed all his belongings, plus the potions which he wrapped in socks and buried in his shoes. There were pictures, clothes, textbooks, various supplies—

And, of course, the Wand of Doom. It _was_ , admittedly, much, much, better than any other wand he’d tried. His spells — at least those he’d tried — did tend to do, in a general way, what he wanted them to.

Of course, his Levitation Charm had sent Persephone’s cage crashing into the ceiling. His _Lumos_ had Harry diving under the bed. The horrid thing, as far as Neville was concerned, had a life of its own, and he still had no idea why it had chosen him. It wasn’t _fair_ ; Harry had already grown inordinately attached to his nice, obedient wand — Neville half suspected he slept with it under his pillow — while he found himself eyeing his own suspiciously, dreading what it would get up to next.

But other than that, those last few weeks were wonderful. He would have died before admitting to anyone that he’d cried and said goodbye to his plants. Pip had, however, promised that ‘we is looking after Master Neville’s weeds,’ so he was hoping for the best. Old Persephone had sworn that she’d scream at them if they did anything wrong.

‘But no punishing yourself,’ he told the elf sternly.

By the end, he was quite reluctant to leave. Walburga and Kreacher were the only people he could honestly say he _wouldn’t_ miss. Helen and Chloe with their big inquisitive eyes and their little quarrels, Cassie bossing Callidora, Arcturus’ gruff way of looking out for everybody, Algie and Enid and his gran, and most of all, James and Sirius.

He’d always called them ‘uncle,’ but they’d been as much his fathers as Harry’s. Sirius with his jokes, his teasing, and the way he could suddenly be down-to-earth and sensible when Neville needed it. He could always talk to Sirius about the things that nobody else would understand, about how Harry made people like him without even trying (‘it’s called charisma, Nev’), or how afraid he was about ending up in Hufflepuff (‘don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not a team player’), or even that he was _afraid_ of going to Hogwarts (‘don’t let the bravado fool you — everyone is, their first year, and sometimes later too’). And there was James, who was . . . well, he was _James_. It was impossible to imagine James as a young mischief-maker, as both men insisted; Sirius, definitely, but James? James, grave, determined, powerful, with that touch of severity — no. James was the one that looked after him when he was sick, the one who gave Walburga what-for, the one who was always being quoted in the _Prophet_ — he was . . . _good_. Neville trusted nobody, not even Harry, as much as he did James. Sometimes he was terrified of him, but only when he knew he’d done something he shouldn’t; and when he’d done something _right_ , he always ran to James, even before his gran. As long as Neville could remember, what he wanted more than anything was to make James proud of him.

 _If I’m in Gryffindor—_

Neville pushed that thought away. _Harry_ would be, naturally — Harry was practically fearless — but him? There were other things. There’d be Herbology. As long as he obeyed the rules and did well —

But there wouldn’t be anybody looking out for him. He’d always been _surrounded_ by people — and admittedly he was looking forward to being a bit less smothered — but he’d always known that no matter what he did, somebody would take care of it and him. Hogwarts wasn’t like Grimmauld Place. _Nowhere_ was like Grimmauld Place. There wouldn’t even be the family portraits there . . .

Neville rubbed his nose against his sleeve, and got up. He wasn’t going to cry. He’d cried once and only babies cried more than that.


End file.
